


Bird on a Wire

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Kings of Nowhere [21]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe-GTA V, Background Relationships, Fake AH Crew, Gen, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: If he thought he could get away with it, Gavin would just steal a plane and damn well fly back to Los Santos.





	Bird on a Wire

**Author's Note:**

> Anon wanted myan or freewood in the FAHC AU with “trust me on this. please.”

If he thought he could get away with it, Gavin would just steal a plane and damn well fly back to Los Santos.

Unfortunately, the Fakes have a heist planned at the end of the week and the delicate nature of the heist in question necessitates them staying under the radar until everything's in place, which - 

“Geoff, Geoff,” Gavin says, all cheerful and carefree as Geoff has a bit of a shit fit all the way back in Los Santos, halfway across the country from Gavin. “I'll be there in time. This is...just a little setback. Clear skies and all that once things are seen to here.”

Metaphorically, at least, because it's not enough that Gavin's flight was delayed by weather before takeoff earlier that morning, no. There was some form of engine trouble that forced the pilot to reroute to an airport in the way of a monster storm that looks as though it's going to ground all flights until sometime tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.

On the other end of the line Geoff's quiet. Months of planning for the heist teetering on the cusp of falling apart thanks to Gavin's travel woes. 

“I'm going to kill Burnie,” Geoff says finally, the way most people comment about the weather. “I'm really going to do it this time.”

Gavin laughs, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window looking out over the runway. Ground crews bustling around the planes parked near the terminal, work lights illuminating the area. It's closing in on midnight where he is and he's exhausted. Feels tired and wrung out and wants nothing more than to be back in Los Santos.

He presses his phone against his ear and to better hear snatches of noise aside from Geoff's quiet breathing. Faint yelling interspersed with laughter. Loud and raucous and Gavin's hit with a sudden wave of homesickness because he's been helping out Burnie and the Roosters for a few weeks now.

Away from Los Santos and the city that's gone and dug its claws in deep, people he's come to call family that he misses with an almost physical ache.

“You always say that,” Gavin points out, because Geoff does. 

Mutters darkly to himself whenever Burnie calls them up, this certain tone to his voice when he needs the glitz and glamour of the Fake AH Crew's Golden Boy or someone with Ray's skill with a sniper rifle. Michael's deft touch when it comes to demolitions, Jack's sheer brilliance behind the wheel of a car or the in the pilot's seat of any kind of aircraft imaginable.

All the way down the line until Geoff grumps and grumbles and has so clearly had enough of Burnie trying to steal his people away the way he does from time to time, little bit of a smirk on his face at the way it riles Geoff up, ruffles his feathers just so.

Geoff seeing right through Burnie's little games – this push and pull they have because they're both assholes – and the rest of them caught up in this bizarre little flirting ritual of theirs.

“Yeah, well,” Geoff sighs, tired and exasperated and fretting over the heist like he's wont to do at times. “I'm fucking serious this time.”

Gavin grins, because of course he is.

“Look, Geoff,” Gavin says, eyes drawn to movement behind him in the window's reflection. “If it comes down to it, I'll get a car and drive back. Pleasant little road trip and all.”

Geoff snorts, and Gavin's shoulder come down the slightest bit.

“Five days, asshole,” Geoff reminds him, as though Gavin's somehow forgotten. 

“You worry too much, Geoff,” Gavin says, something fond in it as he tracks a pair of figures, broad-shouldered bastards doing a terrible job of blending in.

There's a long moment of silence, and then Geoff sighs. ”Yeah, well _you_ never worry enough, asshole.”

Geoff's not wrong about that one, is he? 

Still.

“Five days,” Gavin says, a promise and acknowledgment all in one and finally, finally Geoff seems to believe him, or maybe it's the fact that the yelling on Geoff's end has gotten a bit more...exuberant.

“If you're late, we're splitting your cut of the take.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, turning to get a better look at the figures he's been watching. Something not quite right to them that's tripped the warning bells in his head, have him taking notice when they head over t the ticket counter to speak to the woman behind it.

“I've got to go, Geoff. Looks like they're about to make an announcement.”

There's a little pause, Geoff picking up on the tension in Gavin's voice or something else, and then, “Be careful, dickhead.”

“You too, Geoffrey,” Gavin says, listens to Geoff's quiet laugh before he hangs up. 

Slips his phone into his pocket and wanders along the row of windows. Ostensibly watching the goings on outside while keeping an eye on the men surreptitiously searching for something, some _one_.

Paranoia finely honed after a lifetime of ducking people bigger, meaner, than him who'd love to see him dead. Some annoying bug who somehow manages to slip through their grip time and again, cheeky little grin and jaunty salute and it's rarely steered him wrong in the past.

Has him keeping just outside their periphery, uneasy about being on his own like this, too much time spent running with a crew. People he can rely on to be there covering his back, give him the freedom to focus on what's in front of him without leaving himself vulnerable.

But his crew is thousands of miles away and Gavin has the sinking feeling all the delays, mechanical troubles may not have been, strictly speaking, on the up and up.

The overhead comes on, ticket agents making an announcement or other that Gavin doesn't hear because one of the bruisers happens to turn around and looks right at him.

Eyes narrowing as he starts toward Gavin, something predatory in his gait and that uneasy feeling Gavin's had since spotting the man and his friend intensifies. Turns into this sharp flare in his chest that has him looking for an exit, surrounded by people who are tired and grumpy after sitting around for hours waiting for news about their flight. Groups of them making their way to the ticket counter and refusing to give ground when he tries to slip by them. Put some space between Gain and the bruisers, find a way out of whatever mess he's managed to land himself in this time.

He's uttering apologies and tossing out little smiles here and there as he steps around, past people. Gets tangled up in knot of people at the edge of the crowd thanks to a little old lady with her lapdog in a carrier blocking his way. An arrogant businessman in a three-piece suit who looks down his nose at Gavin in his old hoodie and jeans, scuffed sneakers and the battered messenger bag slung over his shoulder. (Illicit goodies inside because money talks if you know the right people.) 

A dozen others who look at Gavin and the sense of urgency quickly taking hold of him, but _don't bloody budge_.

He hears someone's voice, loud, triumphant and sees the bruiser signaling his friend, eyes locked on Gavin as he pushes his way towards him.

“Christ,” Gavin says, hand tightening around the strap of his bag because he can't start a shootout in a damn airport, not with so many civilians around. (Not without anyone to watch his back if he wants to make it out alive.)

Fingers wrap around the wrist of his other hand, tugging firmly, insistently, and when Gavin looks to see who it is, finds himself looking into blue, blue eyes set in a nice enough face. 

So damn amused about something with a hint of a smirk playing about his mouth as he shoulders the people around them aside, pulling Gavin with him. 

Gavin allows it because the man's leading Gavin away from the bruisers. Is putting the crowd between them, and buying Gavin the time he wanted, needed. Is, it seems, taking him down the corridor where the lights have been dimmed in deference of the late hour, people hoping to get what sleep they can.

“Not that I don't appreciate this,” Gavin says, tripping over someone's carry-on and stumbling into his (alleged) rescuer's back. “But I don't believe we've met?”

Gavin's (alleged) rescuer looks over his shoulder at him, and something about it – the way the light hits his face, stray strands of hair escaping the neat little bun he's got it in – hit Gavin as oddly, strangely, familiar.

“Are you sure about that?” the man asks, _purrs_ , and Gavin's heart does this ridiculously stupid stutter-skip- _stop_ thing in his chest.

“ _You_ ,” Gavin breathes, feeling like some character out of a period romance novel as he stares stupidly. 

Realizes that while he hasn't seen the man's face until now, he should have recognized the bastard the moment he saw those damn eyes of his. (Always so amused about _something_.)

The Vagabond grins at him, looking less like the bastard who loves to make Gavin's life a misery and more like some scruffy douchebag hipster out trying to “find himself” on a trip around the world.

“As much as I'd love to catch up with you,” he says, eyes ticking over Gavin's shoulder to the commotion taking place behind him. “I really don't think now is the time for that, do you?”

Gavin's eyes narrow, and he takes a step back. Feels the Vagabond's hold on his wrist tighten briefly before he releases Gavin, lets him go. 

“Well, I mean,” Gavin says, “we didn't exactly part on good terms the last time around, now did we?”

And now there are people following him, odds extremely slim that it's for a good purpose when he's separated from his crew and in unknown territory. Hardly ideal, really, and even more unlikely that the Vagabond would just happen to be here as well in some kind of bizarre coincidence.

“Look,” the Vagabond says, sounding a bit sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “There might have been some misunderstandings - “

Gavin takes a step, two, forward so fast the Vagabond stumbles back a step, stares at Gavin with wide eyes as he jabs him in the chest.

“'Misunderstandings'?” Gavin hisses. “You shot me! You call that a misunderstanding?”

The Vagabond holds his hands up placatingly, looking of all things _surprised_ that Gavin's not exactly thrilled about that part.

“Just a little! Flesh wound, really,” he says, and keeps looking over Gavin's shoulder to where the commotion is getting louder. Going from loud and confused to loud and angry. “And I'm very sorry about that, I swear.”

Gavin eyes the Vagabond, who stands there watching Gavin.

“Really.”

The Vagabond huffs, wry twist to his lips as he glances to the side, eyes lifting to meet Gavin's after a moment.

“I may not have made the best decisions the last time we met,” he says which is just a bit of an understatement, “but I need you to trust me on this when I tell you I'm not your enemy.”

Gavin cocks his head, instinct and that bit of paranoia telling him that that would be a terrible idea on Gavin's part. That the last time he _did_ trust the bastard he ended up shot and bleeding down in the subway tunnels under Los Santos. Police closing in, and the Vagabond plucking files Gavin had spent weeks and a good chunk of money and burned favors to get before disappearing on him.

His traitorous heart, however - 

“Please, Gavin,” and it's not the Vagabond asking this time, it's _Ryan_. (There's very little Gavin's ever been able to deny him.)

Gavin sighs, hopes he won't regret this as he reaches out to Ryan, extends him the trust he's asking for because Gavin can't do anything else. Knows Michael and the others will never let him live it down if this all blows up in his face. 

Ryan looks back at him and smiles, small and uncertain, and Gavin feels his heart do that odd little maneuver again. 

God's sake, he really is an idiot, isn't he?

"As long as you don't shoot me again," Gavin says, and isn't at all surprise when Ryan laughs. 

Gives him this little smirk, so damn amused and says, "I'll do my best not to, but no promises."

And really, given the way things go for him with someone like Ryan involved, that's all Gavin can ask for.


End file.
